


Set My Midnight Sorrow Free

by wunderxfunk



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderxfunk/pseuds/wunderxfunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 6x05 reaction fic, including some deleted scenes from the elevator. A decent amount of angst from both boys’ perspectives, but I promise it ends up okay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set My Midnight Sorrow Free

**Author's Note:**

> (Apologies for any typos—no beta on this one.)

Kurt spends an hour fighting to keep his eyes open—they had agreed to sleep in shifts, one of them on the lookout in case Sue’s creepy puppet appeared again. After they’d found a pair of handcuffs and an uncomfortably large bottle of lube tucked beneath the wine in their dinner basket, they weren’t taking any chances.

The small room is hot, probably somewhere around eighty degrees, and Kurt can feel himself sweating. He’s already shed as many layers as he dares, but the temptation to disrobe further is heavy in his mind. He preoccupies himself watching Blaine, trying not to be weird about it, but there isn’t exactly much to look at.

In sleep, Blaine’s face is completely smoothed over in a way Kurt has not seen him in a long while—his eyebrows relaxed in their natural arch, mouth parted slightly, exactly the way he used to look on the rare occasions when they lived together and Kurt would be the first to wake up. Even though the floor is uncomfortable, Blaine was able to drift right off—Kurt’s always said that he could fall asleep anywhere.

The familiarity of it hits Kurt with unexpected force.

He can handle awkward meetings in record stores or coffee shops. He can force a smile. Kurt is even half-convinced that he really _is_ on his way to being over Blaine. It’s not this constant ache in his chest anymore. It’s manageable, and Kurt is a versatile person if nothing else.

But _this_.

Blaine is breathing—a gentle, sluggish rhythm that fills the air, almost a snore but not quite. Kurt knows the sound, has even imagined it on occasion as he’s lying in bed. That’s one place where Kurt hasn’t quite learned to be alone yet. He’s learned that there’s no replacement for Blaine’s body beside him (Bruce has long since been thrown away). Night often presents itself as a cold, lonely trial for Kurt to power through, and it’s then that his regrets unearth themselves all over again. He doesn’t cry anymore, but if he’s honest that hardly makes a difference.

Now, the sound isn’t imagined. It really _is_ Blaine, except this reality is so skewed compared to Kurt’s fantasies where they share a bed. There’s no touching, or kisses, or apologies. Just a dim, boxy room—the light emanating from the rows of buttons beside the door and casting a yellow-tinted glow on the floor by Blaine’s foot.

Once upon a time, Kurt would not have been able to imagine a world where he and Blaine could be so physically close together and at once so distant. Even in different states, even after Blaine cheated on him, Kurt still couldn’t shake the tether that held them together. In the back of his mind, he always knew that Blaine was only a phone call away—that if loneliness ever _truly_ became too much, all he had to do was ask. Blaine would be there in an instant, and would hold him until he could catch his breath once more.

How _fucking_ selfish he had been, to take that for granted. How could Kurt even believe that he _deserved_ that kind of love? Nobody could possibly _earn_ that sort of unwavering comfort—it was a miracle, the biggest stroke of luck that he’d ever have. And now it’s gone. Kurt doesn’t have that safety net anymore.

He closes his eyes, feeling just how closely he’s toeing the line of unconsciousness. Instead, he breathes, following Blaine’s lead. _In and out. In and out_. A pathetic attempt at a bodily connection. Kurt knows it means nothing, but he grips onto it and holds it tight like he’ll never let it go.

Never again.

*

Blaine awakens and sees Kurt’s panicked face. Immediately, he jolts upwards and glances around, but there’s no sight of a tricycle or freaky mask. Just Kurt, eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in shallow, rapid puffs.

“Oh my God are you okay?” He scoots closer, and Kurt opens his eyes. They’re a little red—not like he’s been crying, but like he might be on the verge of it.

“Fine,” Kurt manages. His face contorts again into a grimace. “Just… it’s a small space…”

 _Oh._ Blaine’s seen this before. Kurt’s claustrophobia extends beyond his fear of intimacy. Sometimes in cars, or even in an apartment, Kurt will suddenly grow tense and need to spend a few minutes outside. He doesn’t say much about it, but Blaine has always known.

It’s funny how he still knows…

“Here.” Without hesitance, Blaine reaches up to lay a hand on Kurt’s back, his thumb tracing soothing circles against his neck. There’s alarming electricity in the touch. For an instant, Blaine wants to pull his hand away, but he keeps it there, steady. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he improvises. “Close your eyes. Take deep breaths. There’s plenty of air, I promise. Pretend the room’s getting bigger each time you breathe out.”

Kurt does it, heaving long, exaggerated lungfuls and exhaling slowly. Blaine does the same, holding it in until he gets slightly dizzy and then breathes out. It takes nearly a minute, but Kurt eventually relaxes, and Blaine can feel the tenseness melt from his shoulders.

“Better,” Kurt says, his voice rough.

“Do you want to sleep?” Blaine offers. “I’ve gotten enough. I can keep a look out for the possessed Sue doll.”

Kurt laughs a little. When he opens his eyes, they’re a much clearer shade of blue. “It’s like we’re in an episode of Sesame Street, brought to you by the number 666.”

Blaine releases a hearty laugh, feeling a genuine smile stretch across his face. “If they ever decide to do a Muppet horror movie…”

“Jesus,” Kurt replies. He loosens the arms he has wrapped around his knees and stretches out. Blaine can’t help but let his gaze be drawn down the length of Kurt’s legs—the lithe muscles that are almost visible beneath his pants. If Kurt notices him looking, he doesn’t show it.

“Get some sleep, okay?” Blaine says. “You’ll feel better.”

“Okay,” Kurt says softly. He leans back, sinking to the floor, bunching up his discarded jacket beneath his head, apparently beyond the worry of wrinkling it.

Blaine rests his back against the wall of the elevator. His eyes keep wandering to different parts of Kurt’s body—legs, arms, the pale column of his neck. Blaine knows these too. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t, but at the moment he doesn’t mind it, having the details of Kurt Hummel etched into his memory. He cherishes them, even. Something precious that will never quite be lost to time.

It’s certainly better than never knowing Kurt at all.

*

“Just write anything that comes to mind. Something random.”

“Like, names?”

“It could be a name.” Blaine shrugs. “Or an object. Whatever. I’m going to have to make you guess it.”

Kurt glances down at the stack of paper pieces in his hand. The game had, of course, been Blaine’s idea. Neither of them is completely positive how long they’ve been in the elevator, just that it’s been hours upon hours, and there are only so many ways they can attempt to pry the doors open. The heat has gone up again, just a few degrees, but it feels like more. Honestly, Kurt is completely ready to get it over with and kiss Blaine. Then again, he isn’t going to be the one to bring it up—not with the embarrassing scene at Scandals still looming in the not-too-distant past. And Blaine hasn’t mentioned a kiss, so Kurt keeps his mouth shut.

With the pen he found in his pocket, he writes down a few phrases. _Curtain call. Monopoly. Calamari._ Kurt finishes scrawling _Teenage Dream_ before he stops, blinking down at it. What the hell is doing? He snatches the paper and crinkles it up, looking around for a place to toss it, but there’s nowhere. He sets it off to the side.

Kurt notices Blaine watching him, eyes drawn to the sheet that’s begun unfolding itself enough to read. For a second, he visibly flinches, and Kurt feels a hot surge of guilt. But then Blaine turns his attention back to his own pile, suddenly pleasant again.

“Oh god, I just wrote _water ski_. Do you remember that summer my parents took us up north?”

Of course Kurt remembers—the week was arguably miserable, being trapped in an un-air-conditioned cabin with windows that didn’t _quite_ keep out the bugs, which were a constant nuisance so close to the lake. But Blaine had been there, their relationship still fresh and undiscovered. They shared a room, sleeping in separate beds and awkwardly navigating the sudden lack of privacy from one another—taking turns changing in the small adjoined bathroom, blushing when they even so much as saw one another shirtless. Kurt remembers the time he was reading a James Barrie autobiography and Blaine climbed onto the bed beside him, resting his chin on Kurt’s shoulder, tangling their legs and skimming along. It had been so innocent, but Kurt could still recall hoping that Blaine wouldn’t hear the thrumming of his heartbeat and know just how desperately in love he was.

They’d only kissed eight times that week—mostly because of Blaine’s parents, who were trying their best but were still wary of Blaine dating a boy. If he tried he could probably list off the exact circumstance of each kiss. But Kurt doesn’t want to try.

Instead, he allows himself a faint smile, and simply responds, “I do.”

Blaine hesitates, as if he’s waiting for Kurt to launch into a story. Then he seems about to say something more himself, but he falls back into writing, and Kurt follows suit.

“I keep writing foods,” Kurt observes after he finishes a few more clues. “Is there anything left from the dinner?”

“Just some olives.” Blaine shifts and opens the heart-shaped lid of the basket, peering inside before sliding it over to Kurt.

Kurt hums, disappointed, but he plucks a few out. “Do you want some?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

A silence.

“You know, this is nice. Us being friends again,” Blaine continues casually. “I missed it.”

Kurt stops chewing, and tries his best to mirror Blaine’s unaffected expression, ignoring the way the word _friends_ stings a little. He swallows. “Yeah, me too. I mean, we weren’t ever really _not_ friends, we just—“

“I know. I just haven’t gotten the chance to say it really, but I’m glad.” Blaine keeps speaking, and Kurt wonders how he can chat about the terms of their relationship to one another with such ease. Even if he’s good at faking it, Kurt still struggles. “I was kind of worried. That it would be bad, you know, or that we’d _actually_ wind up hating one another.”

“I wouldn’t hate you, Blaine,” Kurt offers.

“I know you wouldn’t, but… it’s still nice. This.”

“Definitely,” Kurt says. He eats a little bit more, but his appetite quickly dies down, so he closes the basket and shifts his focus to the game, not daring to look up again until he’s sure that the pain of the conversation is completely wiped from his features.

*

“Um… you really don’t like this.”

“Football,” Kurt guesses, holding his clue to his head. “Mitt Romney. Crocs.”

“Did you even write any of those?”

“I dislike a lot of things, Blaine. You’re gonna have to give me more.”

The heavy atmosphere in the elevator has lifted again, and now the air is punctuated with laughter from both of them as they get further into their game. So far, they’ve been exceptionally skilled, even with the strangest of hints. It’s obvious to Blaine why, of course. They know each other better than anyone else. It’s such a relaxed knowledge, too, with minimal effort required to make one another smile. Blaine supposes this is what he’d meant about missing Kurt. It isn’t just the romance thing, though he knows that will always be there in some form. It’s the tranquility of being around a person whom he doesn’t constantly have to decipher.

Then again, it’s not always that easy. They can still hide things. There are still questionable silences, when Kurt disappears from view, and it’s like talking to a stranger. Empty hums of acknowledgment and eyes averted so Blaine can’t see what’s really burning behind them. Their last few weeks as a couple were full of these moments. Try as he might, Blaine could never manage to reel Kurt back in. He doesn’t miss that feeling of failure, or the equally terrifying dread that a distance could bloom between them and swallow them one at a time.

But it wasn’t always like that. In fact, it almost never was.

Again, Blaine has to wonder what _happened,_ but that’s a question he’s mulled over long enough. Perhaps Kurt was right. They were too young. It just didn’t fit. Sometimes things don’t work out, and you can’t spend your life plagued by it. Blaine can’t keep cutting himself open again and again, searching for answers. He has to move on.

He _has, hasn’t he_?

“Okay,” he says. “It’s a type of liquor. You said it tastes like gasoline.”

“ _Ohh_ , Limoncello. Easy.” Kurt discards the clue. “Okay, your turn.”

Blaine blindly picks a piece of paper and holds it up, wearing a patient smile. Kurt squints, trying to read, and then his face clears.

“Um, it’s a game in England. They play it with a bat and there’s, like, sticks or something that you try to knock over with a ball.”

“Cricket?”

“Oh shit, wait. No. It’s a different one. They have a type of shirt named after it. You have one, it’s red striped—“

“Polo?”

“No.”

“Rugby?”

“Yeah.”

Blaine laughs. “How do you not know what rugby is?”

Kurt huffs, his cheeks turning a darker shade of pink—they’re both already melting from the heat in the room. Honestly, Blaine’s suspecting that they’re going to have to use the sink in the bathroom as a makeshift shower soon, though he’s hoping it won’t come to that.

“I can barely grasp the sports we have here. I’m supposed to know what they’re doing with balls over in Europe, too?”

“I hear they’re pretty nuanced with balls over there,” Blaine says before he can resist.

“Oh yeah,” Kurt jokes, joining in. “They're doing all kinds of things with balls. It’s very progressive”

And just like that, they’re giggling, as if the dark spots of their history are completely gone, erased, leaving room for more of this… what? Blaine isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to name it, but he can’t help the one word that keeps bouncing around in his mind.

_Soulmate._

*

After the invitational, Kurt goes home and eats a giant meal before showering for a full forty-five minutes, scrubbing every portion of his body. He hates it a bit that he can still feel Blaine’s kiss on his lips—a ghostly touch, an echo. _It means nothing._

Kurt isn’t sure that he believes that, at least not for himself, but he’s too exhausted to really think through it. When he climbs into bed, he notices a text notification on his phone.

_How are you doing?_

He quickly responds to Blaine’s open-ended question, trying not to wonder at the motive behind it. Really, it’s not that hard to imagine that Blaine is simply worried—as good of “friends” as they are, everything about them is still precarious.

**Much better now. I think that’s the most I’ve ever eaten in one sitting.**

It takes seconds for Blaine to reply.

_I’m not so sure about that, haha. That one time after our modern dance final?_

**I definitely ate more than that.**

_Wow. Color me impressed._

**I’m an inspiration in many ways.**

_Well, we all know that. ;)_

_So… just checking… we’re fine, right?_

**Yes, Blaine. We’re fine. I promise.**

_How would you feel about grabbing coffee tomorrow after rehearsals are over?_

The invitation makes Kurt smile despite himself. He suddenly realizes that, even if he’s still pining, even if there are more hurdles to jump before everything is okay again, there’s something he was wrong about. Kurt hasn’t lost everything. Even if it’s not exactly the same as before, it’s still there.

His safety net.

He swipes his thumbs across the screen.

**As long as we don’t go anywhere that serves olives, I am totally in. :)**

**Author's Note:**

> Also available on [Tumblr.](http://wunderxfunk.tumblr.com/post/109711239904/title-set-my-midnight-sorrow-free-word-count) uwu


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